🦴

The first time you meet Aaron Hotchner, you’re ready to hightail it out of the room. Your transfer to the Behavioural Analysis Unit was something done out of necessity—you’d spent a long time in private practice before deciding to branch out and were lucky enough to score an opening with the FBI.

Hotchner was…a lot. Of what? You weren’t entirely sure. You’d been made aware he had a reputation for being a hardass and somehow also one of the best team leaders in the FBI.

He was calm, confident and at times abrasive, but you wouldn’t have gotten to this point if you were unable to work under pressure. He had been strict and clear in his expectations of your role on the team; you were new and had to fight to prove yourself.

“I look forward to working with you Agent.” He had remarked, barely looking up from his pile of papers as he dismissed you from the meeting. If you were any less professional, you would have scoffed but all you did was offer a tight smile and nod.

“I do too, have a good day further Agent Hotchner.”

And that was that.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

The BAU was a learn as you go workplace and you quickly figured out it was also a seemingly do as I say, not as I do environment. If you had a dollar for every time you witnessed one of your coworkers pull some kind of self-sacrificing bullshit—you’re fairly sure you’d never have to work ever again.

You would be lying if you said it didn’t bring some sort of spark back into your life, despite the dead bodies and sadistic murderers—you had found that missing puzzle peace.

The team sat on the plane back from one of their most recent cases, half-asleep on the red eye whilst you had your laptop out, typing away at your report so you’d be able to sleep as soon as you got back.

“You should sleep.” Hotch’s voice startles you despite being barely above a soft murmur. He’s watching you over a case file whilst sitting across from you.

You snort, “Yeah, no chance.”

Hotch frowns, “You having a hard time sleeping?” His tone is concerned and it brings a stiffness to your shoulders. You shouldn’t have said that. You’re completely capable of doing your job and it’s not like you’re the only one on this plane who has a hard time closing their eyes at night and not picturing every other gruesome thing they’ve encountered.

“No,” you smile tightly, shuffling your laptop closer to you as you squint at the screen. “I’m fine.”

Hotch stares at you for a second, as if he’s deciding whether or not to call you out on the blatant lie but instead heaves a sigh, slumping into his own seat.

“You shouldn’t squint like that—it will hurt your eyes.” He reprimands lightly and this time you can’t help the amused raise of your brow as you meet his dark gaze.

“God, you’re old.” You snort, immediately trying to muffle your laugh when his expression turns perplexed.

“Old?” he mutters in disbelief.

“Sorry,” you giggle, slapping a hand over your mouth as you watch him shake his head in fond amusement.

“You’re trouble for a man’s ego.” He points at you with a wry smile on his face as you flush.

You shrug, “Gotta keep em’ humble.”

Hotch flashes his teeth as he grins softly. Silence grows between the two of you as you continue to work on your own respective tasks.

As you continue to write your report, nibbling on your bottom lip you are seemingly unaware of the soft looks Hotch sends you in between his own reading.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

Your relationship with Hotch is complicated. There are times where you’ll catch him staring at you from his office, small smile on his face or there’s times where he inconspicuously accommodates you more than he would someone else.

He’s just being nice is what you tell yourself, because any other option would be ludicrous to even consider. Though there are moments that make you start to question whether those options might be reality.

You’re on a case in Pittsburgh, somewhere near the hospital you used to work at before transferring to the BAU and it’s just your luck that one of your key witnesses is currently being held in the ED.

You’re more than happy to accompany Hotch to the ED to try and get something useful out of the guy and you really struggle at schooling your face of excitement of seeing any of your past colleagues.

It doesn’t slip passed Hotch’s notice who quirks a curious brow at you from the driver’s seat, “You’re quite eager to be meeting a witness.” He remarks dryly but there’s no hiding the humor in his expression.

You grow shy, nibbling on your bottom lip and drawing his attention to your action. “I used to work in the psychology department at PTMC.” You admit softly, wringing your hands in front of you.

Hotch hums interestedly, it’s not often in their line of work that Agents are transferred into the FBI from outside of the academy. He’s willing to take any chance to know the parts of you he’s been yet to discover and visiting your work is what brings him hope that this might just push you both closer together.

You haven’t been outwardly dismissive of his advancements, but he would be lying if he said it wasn’t killing him inside that you weren’t as forthcoming. Sure, it had been a while since he’d had to whip out his flirting tactics—his first and last relationship being well his late wife.

But you were so enigmatic that he just couldn’t help but want to be near you, he’d been making every effort to impress. Well, at least he thought he had, if your blatant obliviousness to his affection wasn’t sign enough.

Hotch had found himself gritting his teeth one too many times after he’d been blatantly flirting with you only for you to respond in your sweetest smile yet most professional tone.

He knew it wasn’t right, that he had no business crushing on his subordinate but Lord help him if you weren’t the only woman who had made him feel things he didn’t think himself capable of.

When Hotch parks the car, you practically launch yourself out of the vehicle to speedwalk your way into the entrance. You’re fast enough that Hotch has to jog a little to catch up to you with a breathy chuckle before matching your strides.

“So, you can run in those heels,” he teases softly, his arm coming back to rest on the curve of your back to guide you to the entrance.

You lift your hand to swat at his chest half-heartedly with a playful scowl that diminishes the moment you step into the bustling ER, the both of you adopting your composed manner of professionalism despite your simultaneous twitching lips.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

You’re met by a blonde nurse whose smile is as wide as can be when she catches sight of you, her southern drawl echoing as she crosses the room, “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes sunshine? Who knew we’d be seeing your face again!” she remarks happily, wrapping her arms around you in a motherly hug.

“Dana, I missed you.” You say softly, hugging her back before throwing a sheepish expression to Hotch who shrugs.

“And who’s this with you?” Dana sizes up Hotch, staring him down something fierce and he feels himself paling a little.

“Uh—” you chuckle nervously. “This is Agent Hotchner, he’s um—he’s my boss.” You say.

Dana turns to you, quirking a brow that makes you roll your eyes fondly. “We’re here on a case, Pittsburgh PD should have called ahead, we’re here to interview a James Harlow? He was in—”

“MVA, Yeah Robby’s got him down in South 12, you remember where that is don’t you? He’s gonna be real excited to see you.” Dana drawls teasingly.

Hotch expects you to laugh and wave off the statement, but he’s surprised to see you fluster, your shoulders hiking up towards your ears as you shove Dana softly.

“Stop,” you chastise her through a whine and Hotch feels like a rock had lodged itself in between his heart and ribcage. Who the hell is this guy?

He has no right to be jealous, the two of you aren’t…anything. You’re both colleagues, he’s your superior but Hotch feels his gut clenching and palms sweating all the same.

He coughs, clearing his throat which draws your attention back to him. You have the decency to look embarrassed but without further mention of it you say a hasty goodbye to an amused Dana who looks like she’s sizing him up and drag the both of you to what he assumes is South 12.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

When the curtain is drawn away, you both are met with the sight of your witness and what Hotch assumes is “Robby” explaining his blood test results to.

“Uh,” your witness mutters awkwardly, gaze switching between yourself and the man behind you. You suppose you must look quite intimidating in your formal wear and FBI badged plastered to your lapels, but you school your expression into something that you hope resembles comfort.

“Sunshine.” Robby remarks surprise as you muster a shy smile and an awkward wave while Hotch behinds you clenches his jaw.

Fuck. Granted, Hotch could’ve rationalised his jealousy if the guy were your age (no he couldn’t have) but Robby must be his age if not older. He’s all crows’ feet and greying hair that Hotch can’t help but measure himself up against.

He hates this. Never once has something so personal jeopardised his ability to maintain professionalism yet you have a way to test all of his boundaries. He hates how Robby is looking at you—like you’re some kind of miracle that he never thought he’d have the chance to see again.

It’s how Hotch looks at you. He knows that look, he wears that look every day with a feeling of pride because up until now—he had no reason to doubt that it was a matter of when not if you returned his affection.

Now? Now he feels the urge to drag you out of this ED and make you promise to never look at another man ever again. But he can’t, so he doesn’t.

“I uh—we’re here to interview Mr. Harlow. We’re with the BAU—we just have a couple of questions about what you saw today,” you murmur reassuringly to the wary man whilst glancing back at Robby.

Hotch’s firm voice startles you slightly when he moves from behind you to stand next to you, effectively acting as a barrier between you and Robby, “We need you to go over anything you can remember from this morning.”

Robby’s gaze turns amused when he notices Hotch’s posturing, snorting to himself as he shuffles out of the room, “I’ll leave you to it.”

You nod meekly, opening your mouth to start the cognitive interview before Robby’s voice interrupts you, “Dinner later Sunshine? Would be good to catch up.” He offers, an easy smile in his place.

Your heart warms, as much as you’ve enjoyed your time at the BAU, the day shift were the first people who made you feel like you were part of a community.

“Yeah,” you offer easily. “I’m working a case right now, but I’d like that. Maybe you could invite the rest—”

“Agent, we’re in the middle of something.” Hotch spits out, his eyes ablaze as he stares you down.

You shrink into yourself, not noticing Robby’s frown at your demeanour though he leaves after you give him a reassuring smile. You give your full attention back to your witness and proceed with the interview.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

You somehow feel like you’ve done something wrong despite the interview being a complete success. You walk out of the room with the feeling that Hotch is…mad at you? Frustrated?

You’re not entirely sure, only that he speaks to you in one word responses if he’s not supplied a grunt of some kind. It gets worse when you confirm your plans with Robby as you walk out, offering for Hotch to go on without you when you notice other Pittsburgh PD officers also  in the ED.

“It’ll give me some time to ask him a couple more questions and you can go over what we already know with the rest of the team, I’m sure the officers won’t mind.” You reassure him.

Hotch fights the growl that wants to burst out of his throat. He minds. He minds that Robby’s been waiting not so patiently to get you wrapped around his dirty little fingers, for you to decide that maybe you don’t want Hotch and instead want to trade up to some fucking ER Doctor.

“No, we came together. I’ll drive you back.” His answer is curt and your confusion doubles. What is his problem?

“But I—”

“Sunshine, my truck’s sitting outside if you’d rather drive that. I don’t mind coming and getting’ it from you later before dinner.”  Robby offers, interrupting your conversation Hotch thinks bitterly.

Of course he drives a truck, and of course he’d offer for you to take it. Any excuse in the book to get to see you again huh? Well Hotch can deal with that.

“That won’t be necessary, we have everything that we need to form a working profile and time is really of the essence here. We need to go. Now.” He orders, leaving no room for misinterpretation as he grabs your arm despite the gasp you let out, sparks shooting up your arm as your dragged out the parking lot.

“What? Hotch—” you squeak out, trying to tug your arm from his hold as he pulls you into the car, lifting you by your hips and plopping you into the passenger seat. You squawk in protest squirming as he adjusts your legs slightly and closes the door, jogging to the driver’s seat and getting in with a scowl still planted on his face.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

You’ve been silent and matching Hotch’s scowl the entire drive back to the precinct, “This is kidnapping you know.” You remark sarcastically, folding your arms over your chest..

Hotch blows out a frustrated breath, “We had to leave, we didn’t have time for you be chummy with your friends.” He growls out, hands tightening on the wheel until he’s white knuckling it.

“Yeah sure, blame me when you’re the one with a stick up your ass.” He hears you mutter to yourself, forcing his resolve to break.

“That’s it.” He snarls, pulling off onto the shoulder of the road. There are barely any cars on this stretch of road, but it still brings a gasp to your lips at the jerky movement.

“What is wrong with you!” you hiss out, clutching at your seatbelt and the handle of the door as your eyes grow wide in panic.

“You’re being a brat.” Hotch growls out, his gaze dark and heavy as his chest heaves up and down in frustration. Your gaze drops to his chest, your mouth growing parched as you shake yourself out of your stupor.

“I’m a brat?” You say incredulously, “I’m a brat when you’re the one who nearly got us into an accident because you were too busy having a temper tantrum over what the fuck ever?”

Hotch’s jaw clicks from how hard he’s clenching it, his glare focused on you, “Well I wouldn’t have been so on edge if you weren’t distracted while on the job.”

If it’s even possible, your scowl deepens, as you unbuckle your seatbelt thrusting your pointer finger into Hotch’s chest with vehemence, “Don’t you dare insinuate that I can’t do my job, I told you I could’ve gotten a ride with a different officer. Hell, even Robby offered—”

“Don’t fucking say him name.” Hotch threatens.

You falter, expression turning into bewilderment, “You’ve got a problem with Robby? You just met him how—”

“Because he was hitting on you!” Hotch bursts out, running his hand over his jaw as he blows out a frustrated breath as he chuckles without humor.

“Huh? Robby? He wouldn’t—”

“Oh, trust me,” Hotch taunts, “He would and he did. I had a front row seat to that entire segment.”

You frown looking as puzzled as ever, “That’s why you were angry? Why does it matter what Robby thinks, it doesn’t impact the case—”

“Fuck, you’re irritating.” Hotch grounds out, launching himself over the counsel and swallowing your annoyed sound with his lips. He kisses you fiercely, his chapped lips borderline bruising your own as he prods at your lips with his tongue, seeking entrance.

He muffles your whimpers with his drawn out groan as he licks into your mouth, his hand coming up to cup your face, angling you to deepen the kiss as he threads his fingers through your hair.

Your hands come up shakily to clench around his t-shirt as you whine into his mouth, lazily licking into his mouth like you’re trying to play catch up with him.

When he draws himself away, you follow his lips unconsciously—your own puckered with a whine as he takes in your dazed expression. He licks his lips watching you, already half hard in his pants from the taste of you.

“I was jealous.” He admits, his voice low. He’s still looking at you, watching for any change in your expression.

Your eyes widen, “Why?” you mumble aloud.

Hotch scoffs a laugh, “Because I like you? Because I wished that I had worked up the nerve to ask you out before that hotshot doctor did? Because I was too much of a wuss because I was scared you’d say no? you take your pick.” He says, smiling without humour.

You frown, your hand hesitantly lifting to cup Hotch’s cheek. You nibble on your bottom lip, drawing a groan from Hotch’s chest.

“I—I like you too.” You admit shyly, your expression growing abashed as you avoid eye contact with him.

“Look at me.” He demands firmly, his hand cupping your chin to force you to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry I lashed out at you, that was unfair of me.” He says softly. You shrug, rubbing your thumb up and down his cheek.

“S’okay, I know you didn’t mean it.” You mumble.

Hotch shakes his head, “No.” he states firmly, “I didn’t mean it but that doesn’t make it right, you don’t deserve to be treated like that. I’m sorry.” He insists.

You smile softly, “Forgiven, you can be so emotional sometimes.” You tease softly.

Hotch can’t help but roll his eyes, “You mean it though? you—you like me?” he asks hoarsely.

You grow shy, nodding softly. “Say it again.” He demands petulantly.

You snort, “What will I get if I do?” you taunt.

Hotch’s expression grows devilish, “Anything you want.” He mutters darkly, gazing at you with heat in his eyes. His dick twitches inside of his pants as he has to fight the urge to thrust up into empty space.

Your pupils dilate, “I like you.” You say breathily and Aaron’s smirk grows wider.

“That right?” He taunts softly, his hand dropping to your thigh and slowly moving upwards.

You shudder softly, your thighs slipping open as you gaze grows heavier. “Is this okay?” Aaron checks in with you.

You nod softly, your own hand coming to rest of his shoulder as you feel him run his index finger over the inseam of your tailored pants.

A sharp gasp escapes you, “Fuck.” Aaron mutters as he watches you squirm.

“Take off your pants.” He orders and you scramble to pull your pants and underwear off in quick succession.

Aaron’s breathing grows heavier as he catches sight of your wet cunt, glistening from its moisture as you spread your legs shyly.

His groan is loud in the car as he runs his thumb over your sticky entrance, pausing to press indecently over your hole softly before running it back up and down through your wetness.

You whimper, grabbing hold of his bicep as you make half-hearted thrusts against his thumb, clenching down emptily on the tip of his thumb each time he teasingly enters your cunt.

“I—oh.” You gasp, feeling Hotch’s thumb start to rub circles on your clit mixed with your wetness. You feel yourself start to leak between your thighs, grinding your hips up into Hotch’s thumb.

“Does that feel good?” he grunts, using his other hand to circle your entrance with his index finger, slipping it in as he rubs your clit and watching in fascination as your pussy swallows his finger whole, clenching down so tightly on him that he can’t help but imagine how tight you’d be on his dick.

“Hotch, I—" you whine as he thrusts his finger in and out, curling it slowly to brush against that soft spongy area inside of you that turns your legs into jelly.

“Aaron,” he orders you. “You call me Aaron while I make you feel good.”

You nod nonsensically, barely even listening as your focus is on the feeling of Hotch’s fingers in you. “Another—want, oh my god, another.” You beg him, leaking all over his fingers as you thrust harder, seeking more friction.

Hotch adds his middle finger easily enough, drawing out a guttural moan from you as you feel yourself climbing closer to the edge. You can feel every callous and groove on Hotch’s fingers and it makes you even wetter.

God you want his fingers inside of you forever, stretching you out and making you cum. “I can’t, close—” you mumble softly, throwing your head back as you clench your hand down on Aaron’s shoulder—you expression scrunching in pleasure.

“Yeah?” Aaron coos, “Cum on my fingers baby—that’s a good girl, cum for me.” He growls, fucking his fingers into your harder as you hurtle towards the finish line.

Your cunt clenching down harshly as you walls spasm around his fingers, your vision whiting out from pure pleasure as Hotch milks you for your orgasm until you’re left twitching and spent on the seat.

“Good girl.” He mumbles softly, laying a soft kiss on your forehead before taking his fingers out of you, bringing them to his own mouth, and sucking as his own eyes roll back into his head.

You’re about to offer to suck him off when you’ve recovered when you notice the wet patch that blooms over his crotch.

Spencer Reid is either busy, or he’s talking. Rambling in soft tones about work, or physics, or quite literally anything—you’ve heard him talk at length about centipedes before—because that’s just the type of person he is. So to see him just…sitting there, picking at the skin around his nails, neither speaking nor acting, is uncanny. 

Your boyfriend has been replaced with a statue, and it’s been like this all day. You noticed something was off when you first woke, and you were immediately able to identify the problem. You had hoped—evidently in vain—that Spencer might broach the topic himself, exercise his usually excellent communication skills, but no; he stayed quiet, grew quieter. And now it’s 6pm and you’re elbow-deep in the sink washing dishes, and Spencer’s still sitting on the couch, fidgeting in silence.

Or you think he is, until you feel a pair of arms wrap around you from behind. His chest against your back, nose pressed into your hair. You purse your lips, wait a beat, then two, for him to speak before setting the dishes in the sink and reaching for a towel.

“You okay?” you ask, voice light.

“Mhm.”

After drying your hands, you shimmy around until you’re facing him, brows set in a small frown. “Sure?”

Spencer flashes you a small, visibly strained smile. “Yeah, I’m sure. Are you, uh—” he clears his throat. “Are you all packed?”

“Yes sir.”

“And you’re not missing anything?” he asks. “You, um, forgot your toothbrush when we went on that road trip, and—”

“I have my toothbrush,” you say softly. 

Spencer nods. He swallows like it’s painful. “Good.”

For a moment, you just watch him, hoping that he might take your look of concern as a sign to speak up but, of course, he doesn’t. 

So, with gentle hands you reach up to cup his cheeks. “Spence,” you murmur, “I know something’s up.”

He lets his eyes flutter closed, and he leans into your touch with a soft sigh. But he doesn’t speak.

“You worried about this trip?” you prod.

You feel it under your palm, the way he bites the inside of his cheek before answering, “No. I’m not— well, I…” he sighs. “I don’t know.”

Leaning back against the countertop, you wait with patience. You keep your hands on his face, thumbs brushing tender circles against his skin as you let him organise his thoughts, giving him as much time as he needs.

“It doesn’t make sense, logically,” he eventually mutters. “What I’m feeling, I mean. I-I keep trying to…reason with it, but there’s just this— this voice in the back of my head.” He lowers his voice until he’s speaking in almost a whisper. “I just can’t help but worry you’re not gonna come back.”

His words catch you off guard. Your brows twitch, and he immediately begins to backtrack.

“And I know it’s stupid, and— and I know that, obviously, you won’t—"

“Spencer.” You cut him off carefully, hands moving from his face to his neck.

He falls silent, lowers his head. Shame seems to taint his entire being, weighing him down.

You wait a beat, trying to gauge where he’s at, what he’s thinking, before asking, “Is this about Gideon?”

All he does in response is smile. Self-conscious. Sardonic.

And it breaks your heart.

You know he’s been sensitive, more so than usual, since Gideon left—since Elle left, even. Since the awful incident with Tobias Hankel, the weight he carried—still carries—in the wake of it all. You can’t imagine how he must feel, and it’s rare that you see it at all because he handles it all so silently. Like he’s afraid of being too much. Too human. 

“Spence,” you murmur his name again so he meets your gaze, “of course I’m gonna come back.”

“I know.” He shakes his head, takes a deep breath like he’s trying to will himself into being okay, and then he deflates once more. He leans forward and touches his forehead to yours like you’re the only thing keeping him upright, and he closes his eyes. “I just can’t stop…thinking.”

“About what?”

“Sleeping in an empty bed for a week,” he mutters.

“And?”

He sighs. “The hypothetical—very hypothetical—scenario where you…enjoy being there, away from me, more than you enjoy being here.”

“Oh, honey…” your hands slip down further, fingers curling into the neckline of his sweater. “Spence—”

“I know it’s unfounded,” he says. His hands find your wrists, and he holds onto you like you may disappear if he lets go. “I know I’m being…clingy. Ridiculous.”

“You’re not being ridiculous.” You release his sweater, opting instead to entwine your fingers with his, holding his hands. “You’re allowed to worry.”

“I keep—” A laugh cuts through his words. Soft, light, but still laced with that slight self-consciousness that just makes you want to hug him and never let him go. “I keep hoping that Reagan will end up…falling down, or something. That way you won’t have to go.”

“Hopefully not while I’m there?”

“Oh, no— of course not!” His voice cracks as he pulls away, wide-eyed. “God, I’d never wish for—”

“I know, I know.” You squeeze his hands with a quiet chuckle, one that, thankfully, he mirrors.

You pull him back in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek as his lips curl into a small smile. When you lean back, you find that smile to be tainted, still, with a subdued sadness—less than there had been previously, but still more than what you want to see.

“Hey,” you murmur.

“Hey,” he echoes.

“I’m gonna come back, and— Spencer, look at me.” You cup his cheek as he tries to turn his face away, gently guiding him back to you. “And I’m gonna call you, okay? Every day, I promise.”

A frown crosses his face at your words, and he shakes his head. “You don’t need to…placate me,” he says. “I’m being childish—”

“I want to call you,” you interrupt, voice firm. “I wanna hear your voice. I’m gonna miss you, too, you know.”

His gaze drops to his feet, but even as the silence starts to sting you take care not to rush him. It takes him a few moments but, eventually, he meets your gaze once more, holds it like a lifeline. “You’ll call me?”

“Every day,” you repeat.

He nods. Slowly, like his head weighs twice what it should—but it’s still a nod. You pull him closer, press a kiss to the tip of his nose, before releasing his face.

“Here.” You fumble with the clasp of your necklace, removing it so you can press it into his palm. “Hang onto this for me, okay?”

A stretch of silence. Spencer stares blankly at the necklace, like he doesn’t know what to do with it, before shaking his head. “I can’t,” he says. “This— this is your favourite. You never take it off—"

“Then it gives me all the more reason to come back, right?” you ask, smiling. 

Of course, Spencer himself is reason enough to come back. You could tell him that a thousand times, but there’d still be a part of him that doesn’t—can’t, for whatever reason—believe it. 

It’s your favourite necklace, sure, you wear it every day, and going without it will undoubtedly feel weird, but you’d happily leave it behind for Spencer. You’d leave every piece of jewellery—no, everything, period, for him. You just wish there were a way to make him understand that. 

So you settle for putting the necklace on him, not because it “gives you a reason to come back”, but because it gives him part of you to keep with him. Something that he can hold onto; a physical reminder of how much you love him.

You pull him into a hug, squeezing him tight like it may somehow convey, wordlessly, all the things you wish he’d believe. Like, if you hold him tight enough, you might infect him with just a fraction of what you feel for him. 

His arms wrap around your waist once more, and you feel the tension that’s been wracking him all day begin to ease. He presses his face to your neck, mumbles “I’m gonna miss you” into your skin like a prayer, and you murmur back “I know, I’m gonna miss you, too.” 

Time seems to stop existing entirely, and you have no idea how much of it passes during your embrace (a minute? Five? Maybe more?), but when you pull yourself away Spencer seems as though he’s had new life breathed into him. He smiles, kisses your lips, holds your waist not like you’re going to vanish into thin air, but like you’re something precious. And you think for a moment that maybe your hug did work, even if it’s only for a short time. 

“So.” You run your fingers up and down his arms, tracing the creases in his sweater. “Are you gonna drive me to the airport tomorrow, or am I gonna have to call a cab?”

“Why would you call a cab?” he asks, frowning. “I’m not at work.”

“I dunno, in case you feel like driving us off of a bridge, so I miss my flight.”

Spencer’s jaw drops. “I would never—”

“I know.” You chuckle, poking his shoulder as a playful grin creeps up your face. “I’m kidding.”

He rolls his eyes, very obviously suppressing a smile of his own, and kisses your forehead. “I’ll drive,” he murmurs, “don’t worry.”